wanted: home

Tonight, i can’t write poetry. The verses are at the tip of my tongue. I can taste it. They are waiting to come out, but I cannot spit them. They don’t have a home to rest their weary bodies to. They are restless- swirling ever so slowly, until it creates a hurricane within. When it becomes powerful enough, it will force its way out, tearing my skin in the process. I wait for it to happen. This is how I self-destruct.

I often pride myself in being comfortable in my own company, but there are times- especially these times- that I just can’t bear the extreme loneliness and the emptiness that comes with it. I can’t fit in- no matter how hard I try my best to. All my friends are physically distant, and it’s quite hard to traverse cities when I have a 12-hour demanding job that keeps me stuck to my desk. Peers from work are approachable, but it has almost been a year, and I have rarely been invited to an after-work snack date or dinner. I tried initiating- but they were either too busy or our preferences are quite different. I was often there when they were discussing out-of-city trips or vacation plans, but the invitation was never extended to me.

And yeah, maybe it’s my fault for being this shy. But i really want to be included this time. Not just a second option when someone can’t make it, or there’s a gaping space that needs to be filled in. I’m sick of eating the leftovers from a party that I wasn’t even invited on the first place— just because it would be too bad to waste food. I’m tired of saying yes to requests in exchange of people’s favor. More importantly, I ABSOLUTELY HATE IT when, after a long day of trying to be this person that the people I like wanted, i get to hear it from other people that i am at my worst. That i have never lived to their ideals. That all my efforts, my sleepless nights, my tolerance of pain, my denial of self…they all amount to nothing.

I hate it when my life story gets twisted, and nobody bothered to hear my side about it. Just because im young, or new, or because im a girl- im considered as unreliable. Just because my faith is different from others, im branded as wicked. A witch made to burn with the fire from her own wounds.

Sometimes, i muse: what would it be like to suddenly disappear? Will these people ever look for me? Will there be a hole in their hearts just as they have bore on mine? Will I just be a facebook post, a memory that they can easily exorcise with just a tribute message and a selfie pic? I know life moves on for the living, but somehow, I also want them to die just a little at my passing.

My heart has died a thousand mini-deaths for each friend who grew distant, for each co-worker I couldn’t befriend, for each potential romantic interest that just couldn’t work out, for every time my family forces me to submit to their own versions of who i am to them.

I still couldn’t die. I’m too afraid of death- of what comes after it (due to my childhood conditioning). They say it takes courage to live, but all I feel now is just weariness and emptiness for trying my best to be. Life now is just an endless hamster wheel of tiring yourself with work, looking forward to weekends, being anxious about the upcoming week, and reliving the hell of performing again. I don’t think I can still last for a year with this kind of life.


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